


Easy Left Me a Long Time Ago

by enigmaticblue



Series: Second Childhood [4]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy Left Me a Long Time Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the BtVS episode "The Gift," and you all know how that ends. Spoilers S2 of Ats. For the record, there's at least one more long fic in this series coming. Written for the hc_bingo prompt “homesickness.” Title from the Pearl Jam song, “Pendulum.”

A note: I am completely ignoring Gunn’s story line at the end of Angel S2 for the purposes of this fic, partially because it doesn’t really fit very well into this series, and partially because I felt like that whole story line got short shrift in the show. Really, Gunn’s conflict with his old crew deserved more than the five minutes it got, and since I can’t give it the time it deserves here, I’m not going to address it at all.

 

Wesley jumps to his feet when Angel enters the Hyperion with the Host and Gunn in tow, frowning when he doesn’t see Cordelia. “Where’s Cordy?”

 

“She’s gone,” Angel replies. “Lorne, start talking.”

 

Wesley has been cooling his heels since Cordelia had her vision of the girl in the library. He’d tried to argue for his inclusion in the search, but to no avail. Angel had insisted it was too dangerous, and Gunn and Cordelia had backed him up.

 

He _hates_ being left behind, but he can’t disagree with Angel’s reasoning. Wesley is more a liability than an asset right now, and he doesn’t blame Angel for wanting to minimize the risk. Wesley has to content himself with sitting by the phone and waiting for a call, just in case they needed research.

 

That call had never come.

 

“Wait,” Wesley objects. “What happened to Cordelia?”

 

Angel, Gunn, and Lorne look at each other, and Angel eventually sighs. “We went to the library to investigate Cordy’s vision, and found Lorne’s cousin. He helped us kill the drokken, and we went back to Caritas to send his cousin back to where he came from. The portal opened, and Cordelia got sucked through, and now we have to find a way to get to her.”

 

Wesley blinks, taking in the scant information. “How did you open the portal?”

 

“We found the book that the girl in Cordy’s vision used to open it in the first place,” Gunn supplies.

 

“It’s Lorne’s home dimension,” Angel adds.

 

Wesley rubs his forehead. “Lorne?”

 

“That’s my name,” the Host says. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

 

The only reason Wesley doesn’t take offense to that is because the Host always uses pet names. “Okay, so what do we know about your home dimension?” Wesley asked him.

 

Lorne shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

 

“I think we do,” Angel says angrily. “You’ve been playing coy all the way back here, and I want answers.”

 

Wesley can tell that Lorne’s about to clam up. “Anything you can tell us will be worthwhile. You are the only person we know with information about this dimension specifically, unless you can recommend a book.”

 

Lorne shakes his head. “No, there aren’t any books I’m aware of. As far as I know, the only person to ever escape Pylea is me, which makes information a little difficult to come by.”

 

“So, tell us about it,” Wesley urges him.

 

Lorne shakes his head. “Imagine a world where there’s no music, no dancing, no nothing. There’s no joy there. I thought I was crazy, because I heard things no one else even knew existed, and when the portal opened in front of me, I took the opportunity offered, and this place was a revelation. I appeared in an empty warehouse, and I built Caritas on that spot.”

 

Wesley isn’t interested in the history of Caritas at the moment—although he finds it fascinating from a personal standpoint. “What about Cordelia? Is she in any danger?”

 

Lorne winces. “Well, I doubt she’s going to be comfortable. Humans aren’t exactly held in high esteem where I’m from.”

 

“Explain,” Gunn demands, having stayed quiet all this time.

 

Lorne shrugged. “Humans aren’t regarded as people, if you know what I mean. They’re considered beasts of burden.”

 

“Your cousin didn’t seem to have a problem with us,” Gunn objects.

 

“Landok’s always been—well, shall we say pragmatic?” Lorne replies. “He’s surrounded by humans, he’ll adjust. You were helping him hunt and kill the drokken, therefore, you were okay in his book.”

 

Angel suddenly looks hopeful. “Then if Cordelia went through with Landok, he’ll know that she’s okay. He’ll make sure she’s safe.”

 

Lorne doesn’t contradict him, but his expression suggests that he knows better.

 

“I’ll look up everything I can find about interdimensional portals,” Wesley offers. “I take it you couldn’t open another.”

 

Angel hands him a book that’s clearly old and bound in dark leather. “Use this. And no, I couldn’t. It looked like maybe it’s out of batteries.”

 

Wesley nods. “I’ll see what I can find.”

 

At least research is something that he’s good at, and it won’t trigger Angel’s rather frustrating tendencies to be overprotective.

 

Wesley has been spending a lot of time with his books lately, so it’s fairly easy for him to track down the texts dealing with interdimensional travel. Of course, the first piece of information he finds indicates that objects going through a portal are scattered.

 

“How do we stay together?” Gunn asks.

 

Wesley shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ll move as quickly as I can.”

 

Although not fast enough for Angel.

 

“Do you know how long she’s been there?” Angel demands ten hours later.

 

Wesley has been drinking cup after cup of coffee, and his stomach is churning. His eyes are dry, his head is aching, and his hands are shaking from the caffeine overload. “I know because you’ve told me,” Wesley replies, glancing up. “Several times.”

 

“Hey, Angel, lay off,” Gunn says, getting in between them. “Wes is doing the best he can.”

 

Wesley wishes he could be certain that Gunn was standing up for him because Angel’s out of line, or even because they still haven’t quite forgiven Angel for the events of the past months.  But it’s also possible that the others are beginning to look at him and see a _child_ , not the man he’s worked so hard to become.

 

“And I’ll work faster if you aren’t telling me how little time I have left,” Wesley adds.

 

Angel leaves the office in a huff, and Gunn says, “You should eat something.”

 

“I don’t have the time.”

 

“I’ll grab a sandwich for you. Turkey okay?”

 

Wesley knows better than to argue. Gunn is going to bring him a sandwich, and Wesley will probably do better with something in his stomach. “That’s fine.”

 

He finds the answer—or what he thinks is the answer—before Gunn returns, and he goes back out into the lobby. “Metal will prevent those going through the portal from being separated,” he announces. “A car should do it. And you’ll need to find a psychic hotspot. Opening portals depletes the energy, which means we’ll have to find another location.”

 

“I know someone who can help with that,” Lorne says.

 

Angel rubs his hands together. “Great. We’ll leave just as soon as Lorne figures out where we can open a portal. I’ll call Buffy and let her know to watch for you.”

 

Wesley freezes. “What?”

 

“Wes,” Angel says gently. “You can’t come.”

 

Wesley feels gutted, hollowed out, but he immediately sees the logic behind it. “I could help,” he protests, because he has to say it.

 

“If you come, I’m going to be worried about you _and_ Cordelia,” Angel says, in that same gentle tone. “You heard what Lorne said about how they treat humans.”

 

“Maybe I’d be overlooked,” Wesley argues, even though he knows it’s a lost cause. “I’m small enough.”

 

“And you have no chance in a fight,” Angel replies. “I’m not risking you, not in a demon dimension where they use humans as chattel.”

 

“Do you really think Sunnydale is much safer?” Wesley asks sourly.

 

“Considering that people will still see you as human—” Angel begins.

 

Wesley scowls. “Unless it’s a vampire, and then I’m a meal.”

 

“—and Buffy will look out for you,” Angel finishes.

 

“Buffy hates me,” Wesley says, deciding that pointing out the obvious wouldn’t go amiss.

 

“Then Giles will look after you,” Angel says. “You know you can’t stay here.”

 

Wesley can’t argue with him. In his current state, he can’t drive, and there aren’t a lot of grocery stores or gas stations nearby, so there aren’t many places to forage for supplies. Not to mention the fact that there were lawyers at the Hyperion last week threatening to buy the hotel out from under Angel.

 

If Wolfram & Hart finds out about Wesley, if they come back while Angel is gone and catch a glimpse of him, there are a lot of things that could go wrong.

 

And if Angel and the others don’t return, that’s going to leave Wesley without a lot of resources, and the streets will be his only real option, other than Sunnydale.

 

Wesley runs a hand through his hair. “Right. You’re right, of course.”

 

“So, I’ll call Giles,” Angel says. “You can take the bus to Sunnydale, and we’ll open a portal as soon as Lorne gets back with his information.”

 

“I guess I’ll go pack,” Wesley replies, and trudges up the stairs to his room.

 

He’s not happy with the situation, but he doesn’t have a lot of alternatives right now, and Sunnydale seems like the best choice out of a lot of bad ones.

 

When Wesley returns to the lobby with his backpack, stuffed with enough clean clothing to get him through a week, Angel is just hanging up the phone. “There isn’t a bus leaving for Sunnydale until tomorrow morning.”

 

“Okay,” Wesley replies uncertainly.

 

“I called Giles and Buffy and left messages with them,” Angel continues. “I’m sure they’ll be able to meet you.”

 

Wesley frowns. “What if they’re not in town?”

 

“It’s the Hellmouth,” Angel replies. “Where are they going to go? We need to leave tonight, so you’ll have to catch the bus tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll call my crew,” Gunn says. “Rondell or George will give Wes a ride. They can use my truck while I’m gone anyway.”

 

Wesley rubs his eyes and mutters, “Great. Everybody gets to know I’m completely useless.”

 

“Not useless,” Gunn says as he dials. “You were the one who figured out the thing with the portal.”

 

Wesley drops his bag and collapses onto the round couch. “I suppose I’ll avoid the possibility of turning into a freakish four-headed monster with the rest of you.”

 

Angel, of course, has no trouble hearing him. “Is that a possibility?”

 

“There’s a slim chance,” Wesley replies, taking pleasure in bringing up the infinitely small possibility that would happen. “I’m going to see if there are any books I need to take with me.”

 

He’s narrowing down his options when he hears the door open, and Rondell calls, “Yo, G! What’s up?”

 

Wesley makes his final selection and emerges from the office.

 

Gunn glances his direction. “You remember Wes, right?”

 

Rondell looks at him with a puzzled expression. “Sorry, I don’t.”

 

Wesley sighs and resigns himself to explaining his situation again and again over the next few days. “There was a spell. I’m still Wesley; I just look about 15 years younger.”

 

Rondell’s eyes widen, and Wesley can see recognition and shock warring in his eyes. “No shit?”

 

“No shit,” Wesley agrees glumly.

 

“We gotta go help Cordy,” Gunn explains. “And Wes needs to catch a bus to Sunnydale tomorrow morning. We were hoping you’d give him a ride. You can use my truck.”

 

Rondell shrugs. “You don’t need to pay me to help out a friend. Least I can do, right?”

 

“Thanks, man,” Gunn replies, slapping his hand. “Look out for my baby while I’m gone, okay?”

 

Rondell grins. “I’ll put it to good use.” He looks at Wesley. “You sure you don’t want to hang with us in the city, English?”

 

Wesley is very tempted, especially because he knows that Gunn’s old crew doesn’t make a lot of distinctions when it comes to someone’s age. But Angel has already told Giles and Buffy to expect him.

 

Plus, he’s not sure he’s up to staying in LA. His strength is research, and Rondell doesn’t need Wesley’s ability with languages or his book smarts, not like Giles and the Slayer might.

 

“I’m not sure,” Wesley admits. “But I appreciate the offer, and I may take you up on it if my uncle’s place doesn’t work out.”

 

They’re keeping up the pretense that Giles is his uncle, because it’s easier—for a certain value of the word, anyway. There’s nothing about this mess that’s _easy_.

 

“I’ll get him on the bus okay, G,” Rondell assures Gunn. “And if he comes back to LA before you do, I’ll treat him like one of my own, ‘cause he is.”

 

Wesley manages a smile. “Be careful.”

 

“You, too, Wes,” Gunn replies, giving Wesley a quick hug.

 

Angel nods and puts his hands on Wesley’s shoulders. “You have all the financial information and papers. Giles can give you a hand if you need one.”

 

“Just come back with Cordelia,” Wesley says. “That’s an order.”

 

Angel puts a hand on top of Wesley’s head and just lets it rest there a moment. “You take care of yourself.”

 

“You too.”

 

Wesley leaves with Rondell before he says something unbearably sappy. Rondell and his crew are crashing in an abandoned building for the time being, and they’re going out on a vampire hunt that night.

 

Rondell gives him a long look. “What can you handle these days, English?”

 

“I do fine with a crossbow, and I’ve been working with Angel on hand to hand,” Wesley replies.

 

“Fair enough,” Rondell replies. “If you don’t mind helping out—”

 

“I’m happy to do so,” Wesley asserts.

 

They give him a crossbow and station him in the back of Gunn’s truck, and then they drive around for hours. Wesley manages to kill two vampires when they find a nest. Rondell and the older members of the crew chase them out of the abandoned warehouse, and Wesley and a young woman named Jem pick them off as they run outside.

 

It’s a good night, and there’s enough money to go around that they go to a McDonald’s and feast off the dollar menu.

 

Wesley can see what his life would be like if he stayed with Rondell and his crew—days of sleeping, nights of hunting, and it wouldn’t be a bad life. He could be happy, and in another few years, he would be a decent vampire hunter, maybe even a good one.

 

And his language skills, his research abilities, would go to waste. Since that’s the _only_ thing that Wesley is really good at right now, he’s not giving it up unless he has to.

 

Still, it’s nice to have options.

 

They have to get up fairly early the next morning to catch the bus, but Rondell keeps his end of the bargain and gives Wesley a ride.

 

“You need a place to go, you give me a call,” Rondell says as he pulls up outside of the bus station. “Day or night, I’ll come get you, here or in Sunnydale, okay?”

 

“Thanks,” Wesley says quietly. He’s touched that Rondell and his crew had accepted him so easily, and accepted what had happened to him. He wishes it gave him hope for his reception in Sunnydale, but he knows that’s a different story. “That means a lot.”

 

“You already proved yourself,” Rondell replies. “You don’t have to do it again.”

 

Wesley grabs his backpack, which is the only bag he’s packed. He has cash stashed in the bottom of the pack, hidden in the lining, and he’s got an emergency stash in a money belt he wears under his shirt.

 

“I have your number,” Wesley says, trying to inject the gratitude he feels into his voice.

 

He slaps Rondell’s hand, and then he enters the bus station. Gunn had purchased his ticket the day before as part of the bid to ensure Wesley could fly under the radar, and he shows his ticket to the person at the counter.

 

Wesley had packed a couple of paperbacks that wouldn’t look out of place in the hands of a 12-year-old, as well as the demon texts he doesn’t want to risk losing. He hunkers down in his seat, not wanting a conversation with anybody, and focuses on the books in front of him.

 

The trip to Sunnydale would have been faster in a car, because the bus has to make several stops on the way, but Wesley focuses on his book. At one of the stops, an elderly woman gets on and sits next to him.

 

Wesley’s been enjoying having the row to himself, and he tenses.

 

Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything, and Wesley relaxes, and eventually falls asleep.

 

He startles when he feels someone shaking his shoulder. “The driver says we’re at your stop, dear,” the woman says.

 

Wesley rubs his eyes. “Yes. Thank you very much.”

 

She rummages in her insulated bag and hands him something wrapped in waxed paper. “Here. You look as though you could use it.”

 

Wesley doesn’t have the heart to reject her kindness. “Thank you again.”

 

She gets up with some difficulty to let him exit the row. “Take care,” she calls.

 

When he gets off the bus, there’s no one waiting for him, not that Wesley is expecting anybody. Angel hadn’t actually confirmed, and no one in Sunnydale is going to rush to help him, not with how he’d left, or how he’d been before he left.

 

Not that he thinks they wish him ill, but he doubts they care enough to meet him. Just in case they don’t know the exact time of his arrival, Wesley sits on a bench out front and opens the package the woman had given him to find half a ham salad sandwich.

 

Wesley shakes his head. Ham salad might not be his usual preference, but he hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, and he’s hungry.

 

The sandwich is still cool, and he devours it quickly, licking his fingers clean of crumbs and mayonnaise when he finishes it.

 

The ticket agent comes out while Wesley is still considering his options. “Do you have a ride, son? Can I call someone for you?”

 

“My uncle must have forgotten what time my bus arrived,” Wesley says, forcing a smile that he hopes looks natural. “He doesn’t work far from here. It’s no trouble to walk.”

 

“Are you sure?” the agent asks, appearing concerned.

 

Wesley nods and shoulders his pack. “Very sure. I’ve been sitting for hours, and I wouldn’t mind the chance to stretch my legs.”

 

He starts off before the man decides to call Giles directly, or even to call the authorities and report Wesley as a runaway.

 

Granted, Wesley could call Rondell, and maybe get out of trouble that way—or arrange an escape—but he’d rather not have to do that, at least not now.

 

Calling for help should be a last ditch effort sort of thing, something he does when there aren’t any other options open to him.

 

Wesley has a vague idea where the Magic Box is. He’d purchased magic supplies there before Giles had taken over the shop, what feels like two lifetimes ago. The town looks very different from his new vantage point, though. Everything looks bigger, and the streets seem longer. His backpack is heavy; if Wesley had known he would have to walk, he would have packed lighter.

 

Wesley stops several times along the way to rest, sitting on bus stop benches, taking off his pack and letting it rest between his feet. He gets lost at least twice, and has to backtrack and figure out where he is and get his bearings again. Every time he picks it up, he’d swear it’s heavier, but he’s only a few blocks away now.

 

His shirt sticks to his skin, especially on his back where the pack has been resting, and he wipes his forehead with the back of his arm.

 

He spots the sign for the Magic Box a block ahead and moves a little faster, purpose speeding his steps now that he knows his journey is nearly at an end.

 

The bell over the door rings as he pushes it open, and he’s intercepted almost immediately by a woman he doesn’t recognize. “Hello. Are you here to buy something? Because if you aren’t, this is no place to loiter, and you should leave. Immediately.”

 

Wesley blinks at her. “I’m actually here to see Mr. Giles. Is he here?”

 

“Giles?” Xander approaches cautiously. “Wait, please tell me you’re Giles’ secret love child.”

 

“Xander!” Willow snaps.

 

Wesley sets his bag down wearily. “No. And before you ask, I’m Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Yes, _that_ Wesley. I got hit by a curse. I look 12, but I’m the same age I was a few months ago. Angel called both Mr. Giles and Buffy to let them know I was coming, and clearly, neither of them got the message, or they didn’t remember.”

 

They all just stare at him.

 

“May I please have some water?” Wesley asks. “I’m really thirsty.”

 

“I’ll get it,” Willow offers. “One second.”

 

“Oh, wait, I get it now!” Dawn says. “You were Buffy’s Watcher before she fired the Council.”

 

Wesley remembers Dawn from the night he’d spent at the Summers’ residence, waiting for Angel to return with the key ingredient in the spell to reverse the “aspect of a demon” thing a few years ago.

 

She had been a child then, no older than Wesley appears to be now, and he remembers her sitting on the stairs, her eyes huge in her round-cheeked face, trying to watch while avoiding her mom’s orders to get back to bed.

 

“That would be me,” Wesley replies glumly.

 

Dawn wrinkles her nose. “Sucks to be you.”

 

“You’re telling me,” Wesley agrees.

 

Willow approaches with a bottle of water and a conciliatory expression. “Maybe you should sit down. Have you been in town long?”

 

“I walked from the bus stop,” Wesley says. “So, however long that took.”

 

“Giles and Buffy are in the back,” she replies as Wesley drinks. “So, how long have you been, um, younger?”

 

“A couple of months,” Wesley replies between gulps. “I haven’t been able to find a way to reverse it.”

 

Willow perks up at that. “I might be able to look into it. Except, um, I haven’t been able to restore Amy, so no promises.”

 

Wesley shrugs. “If you can solve the problem, I will be forever in your debt.”

 

“Well, we’re a little busy with a _hell god_ right now,” Xander says sourly.

 

“My problem can wait,” Wesley says wearily, not wanting to argue. He’s too tired for that. “It’s waited for a couple of months now, and it will wait another couple of months or years, or whatever. It’s not like I’m dying.”

 

Buffy and Giles come through the door in the back of the shop, speaking in low voices, although they stop abruptly when they see Wesley.

 

“What’s going on?” Buffy demands. “Who’s the kid?”

 

Wesley takes a deep breath. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Yes, _that_ Wesley. Angel called you to tell you I was coming, a message which neither of you apparently received.”

 

It’s possible that he’s rehearsed that speech several times.

 

Giles suddenly looks chagrined. “Is that today?”

 

“Wait, what?” Buffy demands. “I didn’t get a call from Angel.”

 

Dawn makes a little sound in protest.

 

Buffy stares at her. “What was that?”

 

Wesley winces and ducks his head, sensing signs of trouble.

 

“I, um, might have erased a message,” Dawn admits. “Accidently. I thought I’d hit save!”

 

Buffy pinches the bridge of her nose. “ _Dawn_.”

 

“I’m sorry!” Dawn protests. “I didn’t mean to!”

 

“It’s fine,” Wesley inserts, and immediately regrets it when Buffy turns her glare on him.

 

Buffy sighs. “I don’t have time for this. I cannot _believe_ Angel did this to me!”

 

Wesley hunches his shoulders, feeling very small, and very scared.

 

“Buffy!” Willow says. “It’s not Wesley’s fault.”

 

Wesley hates that Willow’s defending him, mostly because he thinks it’s because he looks like he’s twelve, and not because she _cares_.

 

“I have a hell god to worry about, a younger sister to corral, and I don’t have time to babysit,” Buffy snaps. “Dawn, get your stuff. You can do your homework at _home_. We keep getting interrupted here.”

 

Wesley begins to think that maybe he should call Rondell after all, because this situation is _not_ good. “There’s someone I can call,” Wesley offers weakly in Buffy’s wake. “He can come get me.”

 

“No,” Giles says wearily. “I’m sorry. Things have been rather difficult around here lately. I did get Angel’s message, but it slipped my mind entirely.”

 

Wesley understands that he’s here at Giles’ mercy. “No, I’m sorry. We wouldn’t—I wouldn’t have let Angel…”

 

“Let’s go into the back,” Giles suggests. “I’ll make some tea.”

 

Wesley hauls his pack with him because he’s still uncertain about whether he’s going to need to bolt. He sits down on the couch and sets his pack within easy reach, leaning his head back against the cushions.

 

He’s so _fucking_ tired. He’s beginning to think he’ll always be tired.

 

“Here.”

 

Wesley takes the cup of tea that Giles offers and sips appreciatively. “Thank you.”

 

“Why don’t you begin from the—well, from the beginning?” Giles suggests.

 

Wesley isn’t sure he even knows what that is anymore. “That’s easier said than done.”

 

“How did it happen?” Giles asks, and that helps ground him.

 

Wesley sighs. “It wasn’t long after Angel went a little crazy. There was a wizard, and he was attempting to summon a demon. He cursed me, probably with something that he’d already worked up. And I became as you see me now.”

 

“You’ve found no way to reverse it,” Giles says gently.

 

“No,” Wesley admits, feeling like an idiot. “And I’ve tried everything I could think of. I’d ask the wizard, but he’s dead, so that’s not a possibility.”

 

Giles takes a sip of tea, and then says, “I’m very sorry, Wesley.”

 

Absurdly, Wesley feels tears sting his eyes, and he looks away. “Yes, well, I’m sorry for inconveniencing you. I really do have friends in Los Angeles. It might not be ideal, but I can probably ride out the time Angel is gone with them.”

 

Giles shakes his head. “You’re here now. If it comes to that, I might ask you to call your friend, because it’s not safe.” He hesitates. “Is there a reason you didn’t stay with him or her?”

 

“Possibly because Angel is terribly overprotective, and Rondell doesn’t exactly have a stable living situation,” Wesley says. “Nor do I, when you get right down to it. As you can probably see.”

 

“And Angel’s gone to a demon dimension?” Giles asks.

 

Wesley shrugs. “Cordelia was sucked through a portal, and there didn’t seem to be another choice. Obviously, I am not in the best position to go.” He glances at Giles. “You seem to have taken this situation in stride.”

 

“If you knew what we’d been dealing with over the last months, you would know this isn’t even close to the strangest thing I’ve seen lately,” Giles replies.

 

It’s on his lips to ask what Giles means, and then he remembers the hell god, and thinks perhaps it’s better he doesn’t know.

 

“I understand.” Wesley says.

 

Giles takes a sip of his tea and purses his lips. “I’m not sure you do. Glory is very powerful, and she is looking for a key. She believed Spike was the key, or knew where it was, and she tortured him for the information. She hurt him quite badly.”

 

Wesley thinks of his time in Faith’s hands, and he says, “Then you’d best not tell me what it is.”

 

“You’re not frightened?” Giles counters.

 

Wesley laughs bitterly. “I am routinely afraid, but I _have_ been tortured before, and I’ve been shot and stabbed in the neck and turned back into a child. A hell god is, at most, mildly concerning.”

 

He doesn’t say that dying doesn’t seem like a terrible option. Wesley isn’t exactly looking forward to reliving his adolescence, but it looks like that’s what he’ll have to do.

 

The crazy thing is that Wesley doesn’t think death would be worse, particularly if Angel fails to return with the others.

 

“I see,” Giles says quietly. “Are you hungry?”

 

Wesley welcomes the change of subject. “Starved, actually. I haven’t eaten much today.”

 

“Come on,” Giles replies. “We’ll leave the store to Anya, which she will no doubt appreciate.”

 

Wesley gets to his feet wearily. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

 

“We ex-Watchers have to stick together,” Giles says.

 

Wesley is a little surprised that Giles has lumped them together, but he’s strangely warmed. He hadn’t expected that.

 

Giles announced their departure and told the others they could find him at home. They stop at the only truly decent Chinese place in town, and when they get to Giles’ place, Wesley falls on his lo mein with undisguised hunger.

 

The last thing he’d eaten had been half a ham salad sandwich, and that had been hours ago now.

 

“I could call your parents,” Giles offers.

 

Wesley knows Giles doesn’t mean anything by it, but he pushes the half-empty carton away abruptly. “Please don’t.”

 

If Giles calls, Wesley has options, he tells himself. He can call Rondell, and disappear on the streets of Los Angeles. He can buy a bus ticket himself and go back to the Hyperion until Angel returns.

 

“I won’t,” Giles says quickly, and Wesley can tell that Giles has sensed his distress. “I’d heard rumors, but… Never mind.”

 

Wesley closes his eyes and swallows bile. He thinks that it might be worse that those in the Watcher’s Council had some inkling of how Roger Wyndam-Pryce had treated his son, and had done nothing.

 

He thinks it might be even worse if they’d known and felt sorry for him, and thought—

 

“Wesley,” Giles says gently. “It’s fine.”

 

Wesley takes a deep breath. “It’s nothing,” he says briskly. “Would you mind if I used your shower? I’d like to get cleaned up.”

 

“Of course,” Giles replies. “I’ll just put this away for later, shall I?”

 

“I can help,” Wesley offers, suddenly remembering his manners.

 

“No, you go,” Giles insists. “It won’t take much.”

 

Wesley drags his backpack into the bathroom with him and stands there a moment, looking around, feeling so very lost

 

He’ll shower, and do his best to move forward, and if things get bad, he’ll leave. He has options. He just has to remember that.

 

~~~~~

 

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep on Giles’ couch after his shower, but he’s exhausted after the last few days, and he falls asleep while Giles is watching the evening news.

 

He’s groggy when Giles shakes him awake. “What—”

 

“I have to go to the hospital,” Giles says quietly. “One of Buffy’s friends was injured. I don’t know if you’ll be safe here alone.”

 

Wesley frowns. “No one knows I’m here, though.”

 

“I’d rather not take the chance,” Giles replies. “Glory managed to harm Tara when she was alone, and we don’t know if she’ll come after someone else in our group, and she knows where we all live.”

 

Wesley rubs his eyes and grabs his backpack. “Shall I go to the hospital with you?”

 

“I thought it might be for the best if you stayed with Spike and Dawn,” Giles replies. “I’ll drop you off on the way. On the off chance Glory _doesn’t_ know you’re here, I’d like to keep it that way.”

 

Wesley pauses. “Spike? As in William the Bloody?”

 

Giles gives him an impatient look, and Wesley takes that as a sign that Giles wants to be off. “He can’t hurt you. The chip in his head won’t allow it.”

 

So Wesley has heard, but he hadn’t thought to put it to the test. On the other hand, if Buffy is willing to leave her sister with Spike, she must trust him to a certain extent.

 

“I’m not worried about being hurt,” Wesley protests, following Giles out. “It’s just—”

 

He stops. The Watchers’ Diaries are full of stories about the Scourge of Europe, the quartet of vampires so terrifying they received their own name. And Spike had gone down in history as the Slayer of Slayers, killing not one, but two of them.

 

Wesley has spent the better part of two years in Angel’s company; now he’s to spend an evening with Spike.

 

It feels surreal.

 

He also feels, more than ever before, like he’s unwanted baggage.

 

Wesley doesn’t know quite what to expect, but he’s still a little surprised when Giles parks in front of Restfield Cemetery, and then leads the way to an old crypt.

 

Buffy has apparently already dropped Dawn off, because Dawn is there with a man—vampire—who can only be William the Bloody.

 

“Is this him, then?” Spike asks, looking Wesley over with a critical eye.

 

“Wesley, this is Spike; Spike, Wesley,” Giles says briefly. “I’ll be back later.”

 

Wesley blinks at the abrupt leave-taking, and Giles’ brusque manner, which he assumes is directed more at Spike than at him.

 

“Is it true?” Spike asks, and Wesley realizes that one side of his face is still badly bruised.

 

Wesley squares his shoulders. “Is what true?”

 

“That you got shrunk down to pint-sized?” Spike asks.

 

“It’s true,” Wesley replies. “I’m still _me_ , though.”

 

“God, that seriously sucks,” Dawn says.

 

Wesley sighs. “You said that already.”

 

“Bears repeating,” Spike says, hitching a shoulder. “Come on. The tunnels below will be safer than up here.”

 

Spike drops down through a hole in the floor, leaving Dawn and Wesley to climb down the ladder at a more sedate pace.

 

“Are you worried about Glory coming after us?” Wesley asks.

 

Spike gestures to his face. “No sense in taking chances.”

 

Wesley sees Dawn flinch and wonders if she’s afraid. He wishes he had some way to comfort her, but he knows so little about the situation, and whatever’s after them had injured a vampire badly enough that he still bears the marks.

 

He has some idea of what that takes.

 

Wesley trails Spike and Dawn down the tunnel, hitching his backpack higher on one shoulder, and covering a yawn with his free hand. He feels as though he could sleep for a week, but it seems unlikely that he’ll get a chance to catch up any time soon.

 

“We can stop here,” Spike calls.

 

There’s a bit of light from a lamp, but no other creature comforts, and Wesley sits down on the floor while Dawn takes a seat on a rock. Spike stands slightly apart, facing back the way they’d come.

 

“How long have you been like this?” Dawn asks him.

 

“Months,” Wesley replies.

 

Spike half-turns. “And there’s no way to reverse it?”

 

Wesley shakes his head. “Not that I could find, no.” He yawns again. “I don’t know if I can stay awake.”

 

“Sleep,” Spike replies. “I’ll hear her coming and wake you up long before she gets here.”

 

Wesley slumps down, resting his head on his backpack, and starts to drift off. He half-wakes to the sound of voices, and hears Dawn ask, “Am I bad?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Spike asks.

 

“Right now, Glory thinks Tara’s the key, but I’m the key, Spike,” Dawn says. The sound of tears in her voice wakes Wesley fully. “Anything that happens to Tara is because of me. What happened to you, that’s all me, too. I’m like a lightning rod for pain and hurt. I must be evil.”

 

“Rot,” Spike says firmly.

 

“What do you know?” Dawn demands, and Wesley keeps his eyes tightly closed. He knows he’s not supposed to hear this—he’s not supposed to _know_ this. Spike had been badly hurt, and Tara had also been hurt, and if Wesley knows—

 

Wesley could be hurt, too.

 

But then again, he could be hurt even if he didn’t know what Glory was looking for.

 

“I’m a vampire,” Spike replies. “I know something about evil. You’re not evil.”

 

“Maybe I’m not evil, but I don’t think I can be good.”

 

“Well, I’m not good, and I’m okay.”

 

Wesley tries and fails to imagine a soulless Angel comforting the girl, and can’t. Angel has been kind to him since Wesley had been cursed, and has comforted him, but Angelus…

 

Wesley’s intrigued by the idea of a vampire who cares about a child, especially when there doesn’t seem to be anything in it for him.

 

He opens his eyes and sees Spike watching him, and realizes that Spike knows he’d heard them. Spike raises an eyebrow, but says nothing,

 

Wesley closes his eyes again, but he doesn’t go back to sleep.

 

He has no idea how much time has passed when Buffy strides into the chamber, her flashlight heralding her appearance. “Dawnie!”

 

“I’m here!” Dawn calls. “What happened? Is Tara okay?”

 

Wesley sits up, watching from his position on the floor.

 

“The important thing is that Willow got to her in time,” Buffy says. “Her hand will get better, and she’s a little scrambled, but she’ll live.”

 

“This is all my fault,” Dawn says unhappily.

 

Buffy strokes her hair. “Sweetheart, no. This isn’t your fault.”

 

Dawn sniffs. “How’s Willow?”

 

“She was looking to go all payback-y on Glory for a minute, but I cooled her down a little. Actually, a lot,” Buffy replies, still stroking her hair. She hasn’t spared so much as a glance for Wesley, and he’s grateful for it.

 

“So, she’s not going to do anything rash, then,” Spike says slowly.

 

There are undercurrents here that Wesley can sense, but doesn’t understand, and he ducks down, trying to remain unnoticed.

 

“No, I explained that there was no point,” Buffy replies, and even Wesley can see the flaw in that logic.

 

Spike makes a sound that expresses his patent disbelief.

 

“What?” Buffy demands.

 

Spike seems hesitant as he says, “You—so you’re saying that a powerful and mightily pissed-off witch was planning on going and spilling herself a few pints of god blood, and you what? Explained?”

 

Buffy frowns. “You think she’d—no. I told Willow it would be like suicide.”

 

Spike takes a step forward. “I’d do it.”

 

Wesley watches wide-eyed, as he begins to understand.

 

“Right person, person I loved,” Spike continues, and looks straight at Buffy. “I’d do it.”

 

Dawn clears her throat. “Think, Buffy. If Glory had done that to me.”

 

Buffy runs out without a backwards glance.

 

Dawn makes a little sound. “Spike—you should go with her.”

 

“Can’t,” Spike replies briefly. “She asked me to protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He glances at Wesley. “You and the littlest Watcher there.”

 

Dawn sighs. “I just wish there was something I could _do_.”

 

“You can stay safe,” Spike replies. “That’s enough.”

 

Wesley leans his head back against the wall, and tries to reconcile his warring feelings—worry for Buffy, homesickness, worry for Angel and the others, the sense that he’s out of his depth and unwanted, and the strong desire to call Rondell and ask to be picked up.

 

Buffy returns for Dawn a couple of hours later, but she doesn’t seem to notice Wesley. “Come on, Dawnie,” she says wearily. “Let’s go home.”

 

Wesley doesn’t say anything, although Dawn protests. “What about Wesley?”

 

Buffy glances at him. “Spike, you can make sure that Wesley gets back to Giles’ place, right?”

 

“Sure, why not,” Spike mutters, and watches Buffy and Dawn leave.

 

Wesley clambers to his feet and picks up his backpack. “Sorry about that.”

 

Spike shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not really about you, right?”

 

“I guess,” Wesley says. “Still, thanks.”

 

Spike shakes his head. “Come on.”

 

They trudge towards Giles’ apartment silently, and if it’s not entirely comfortable, Wesley finds himself relaxing.

 

Strangely enough, Spike had been pretty decent to him, and he didn’t have to be; there’s no reason he would be, without his soul.

 

“May I ask you a question?” Wesley asks.

 

Spike glances at him. “Think you just did.”

 

Wesley coughs to hide his embarrassment. “Never mind.”

 

“Ask your bloody question,” Spike replies. “Can’t promise to answer it, though.”

 

Wesley suddenly thinks better of it. “It’s not important.”

 

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” Spike says. “And we still have a few blocks before we reach Giles’ place.”

 

Wesley shrugs. “I just wondered what makes you different.”

 

“Different from who?” Spike asks. “The Great Poof? He Who Has a Soul?”

 

Wesley suddenly regrets asking any questions. “I meant in comparison to other vampires, not any one in particular.”

 

Spike snorts. “You were thinking of Angel, but then you hang out with him.”

 

“He’s been good to me,” Wesley replies. “But I’ve seen him without a soul.”

 

Spike shakes his head. “You lot and your focus on souls. You know who had a soul? Ted Bundy.”

 

Wesley winces. “I have a very good friend who’s a demon, and I don’t mean Angel.” He thinks about how that sounds. “That came out wrong.”

 

“Demons are no different than people,” Spike says after a long pause. “It’s all about motivations.”

 

“And you’re motivated to help Buffy,” Wesley suggests.

 

“That’s about the sum of it,” Spike replies. “And no, I’m not going to tell you why.”

 

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Wesley replies, stung. “I have eyes, you know. And I may look like I’m 12, but I’ve been around the block a few times.”

 

Spike raises an eyebrow. “A very _small_ block, sure.”

 

Wesley knows that any protests he might offer would just make Spike even more certain that he’s blowing up his exploits, such as they are. “Maybe.”

 

“What _you_ need to do is get a few new experiences,” Spike says. “Live it up while you can.”

 

Wesley scowls. “I can’t even have a beer.”

 

“Sure you can,” Spike replies. “You just have to find someone to buy it for you.”

 

Wesley considers that fact. “I may come find you in a couple of years.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Spike says with a shrug. “Not that I’m the best role model, but alcohol isn’t the worst way to dull the pain.”

 

“I think I’d like to make sure my liver lasts me my entire life,” Wesley replies.

 

“Oh, right. I suppose you do have to worry about that,” Spike says.

 

They get to Giles’ apartment and Wesley knocks while Spike scuffs his boots against the flagstones.

 

No one answers, and Wesley tries the door, which is locked. “Right,” he mutters.

 

“Come on,” Spike says. “You can sleep in the chair.”

 

Wesley hikes his backpack up. “While I appreciate the offer, I honestly don’t think I can walk anywhere else tonight.”

 

“Let’s try this again then,” Spike says and pounds on the door. “Oi! Watcher! If you don’t answer your door, I’ll break your window and boost the kid through.”

 

Wesley doesn’t think that will work, but a minute later, he hears someone fumbling open the deadbolt. “Spike, what the hell—oh. Wesley. I’m sorry, but I completely forgot.”

 

Wesley’s stomach twists. “I’m sorry to have woken you.”

 

“No, that’s fine,” Giles replies, stepping aside to let him enter. “Spike—thank you.”

 

Wesley glances at him curiously, and Spike shrugs. “No skin off my nose. Let me know if you need any additional help, right?” And then he’s gone.

 

If Wesley hadn’t been dead on his feet, he probably would have offered his own thanks, but all he can do is pull off his shoes and collapse on the couch. He’s asleep as soon as he closes his eyes.

 

~~~~~

 

Giles probably would have let him sleep in, but Wesley wakes when the light begins to filter in through the window, which pulls him out of his fractured dreams.

 

He blinks at the ceiling several times to clear his vision, more than a little disoriented. Slowly, he remembers—he’s at Giles’ flat, and he’d been up very late the night before, hiding out with Dawn and Spike. He has no idea what this day will bring, but he doubts it will be anything good.

 

Giles isn’t up yet, and Wesley stumbles to the bathroom to splash water on his face and change into clean clothes. He’s going to have to do laundry sooner, rather than later, if this keeps up.

 

Remembering where Giles had put the tea things the day before, Wesley starts the kettle, and contemplates leftover Chinese for breakfast, although he’s not sure if Giles will mind if he eats it.

 

He settles on his own leftovers, and doesn’t bother to heat it up, eating it straight out of the carton.

 

“That doesn’t look appetizing at all,” Giles says, entering the kitchen, not yet dressed for the day.

 

Wesley shrugs. “I was hungry. I have water for tea if you’re interested.”

 

“I am, thanks,” Giles replies. “You’re welcome to stay here today if you like, or you can come to the shop.”

 

Wesley doesn’t much like the idea of sitting around Giles’ flat all day, and if he’s at the shop, he might manage to be of use. “I’d like to come to the Magic Box.”

 

The morning passes easily enough, and Wesley immerses himself in the _Book of Tarnis_ , which he hasn’t been able to get his hands on before.

 

Not that he’d needed it; the _Book of Tarnis_ has rather specific uses.

 

The phone in the shop rings, and Giles picks up. “Magic Box, Rupert Giles speaking.” He’s quiet for a long moment. “I see. Where shall we meet you?”

 

Giles hangs up the phone. “We’re going to Xander’s apartment. Buffy had a run-in with Glory, and she knows where the key is located. She needs someone to contact Spike, to ask him to locate transportation for all of us. She doesn’t want to leave Dawn.”

 

“I’ll go,” Wesley offers. “Glory doesn’t know about me, and I know the way.”

 

Giles hesitates. “You’ll be careful.”

 

“Just do me a favor and brings my backpack with you,” Wesley says. “I’d hate to lose it.”

 

Giles nods. “I will. I’ll keep it safe.”

 

Wesley slips out the back and down the alley, setting off at a quick jog, heading straight for Restfield. He finds Spike’s crypt without any difficulty and ducks inside. He doesn’t think he’d been followed, but he’s careful nonetheless.

 

“Oi, who’s there?” Spike calls as soon as he gets inside.

 

“It’s me,” Wesley calls. “There’s a problem.”

 

Spike rolls his eyes. “Of course there’s a bloody problem. What is it?”

 

“Buffy called the Magic Box,” Wesley says, out of breath. “Glory knows Dawn’s the key, and she’s after her. She wants you to locate transportation for all of them.”

 

Spike raises his eyebrows. “Not you?”

 

“I don’t think Buffy cares about me,” Wesley replies. “And Glory doesn’t know about me, so if you have to leave me behind, it won’t matter. I’ll have my friend pick me up.”

 

Spike gives him a long look. “Yeah, and if you decide you’re going to hole up here in Sunnyhell, you can stay here.”

 

“That’s appreciated.” Wesley takes a deep breath. “Can I help?”

 

Spike shrugs. “Suit yourself. You know how to hotwire a vehicle?”

 

“I guess there’s no time like the present to learn, right?” Wesley replies.

 

Spike shrugs. “Let me grab a few things, and we can be on our way.”

 

Wesley follows Spike through the tunnels, trusting that Spike knows where he’s going, although he figures he should probably question that impulse. Spike might not be able to hurt him, but he has no reason to believe that Spike will do as he’s asked.

 

And yet, Wesley _does_ believe it.

 

They come to a stop under a manhole cover, and Spike shoves it to one side. “Poke your head up and see if there’s anyone around.”

 

Wesley does as he’s told, popping up cautiously, realizing that they’re in the middle of a used car lot. He’s not sure what Spike thinks he’s going to find, but then he spots an RV.

 

He ducks back down. “Are you aiming for the RV?”

 

“That’s the idea, much as I’d like to get a fast sports car that will fit the Slayer, the Nibblet and me, Buffy’d never go for it,” Spike replies. “Can you break in?”

 

Wesley hesitates. “I haven’t had much practice.”

 

“See what you can do, but don’t be seen,” Spike instructs.

 

Wesley gets to the door of the RV and tries the handle, although he’s not surprised when it’s locked. He doesn’t have any tools that would help, so he heads for the front office. From what he can see, there are maybe two people working the lot, and they’re both out of the office.

 

Wesley creeps in quietly, looking at the board with all the keys on it behind the desk. Security is non-existent, which maybe has something to do with the size of Sunnydale, or how few customers they receive.

 

Given the state of the vehicles, Wesley isn’t terribly surprised.

 

On the other side of the desk, he can study the board at his leisure, looking at the tags on the keys, and he sees one helpfully labeled “RV.”

 

Wesley snags the key ring from the hook and sneaks right back out again, keeping a sharp eye out for any employees, but they’re still out in front. There’s a businessman in a suit looking over what looks to be the nicest sports car on the lot, and a family looking over a minivan.

 

A conversion van would have been adequate as well, but Wesley hadn’t seen one immediately, and they’re under a time crunch, so there’s no opportunity to shop around.

 

The RV is what they have to work with.

 

Wesley unlocks it and then sticks his head down the manhole. “I got the keys. You’ll have to teach me how to hotwire a vehicle another day.”

 

Spike smirks. “There might be hope for you yet.”

 

“You’re going to have to drive,” Wesley says.

 

Spike pulls a roll of foil out of his coat. “Cover the windows first.”

 

“Give me a few minutes,” Wesley replies.

 

He’s careful going back out, and slips into the RV, unrolling the foil and tucking it up against the windshield. There are blinds over the rest of the windows, so he doesn’t bother with those. He leaves a small window to see out of, and then he sticks his head out of the door.

 

Spike must have been watching for Wesley’s activities, because he darts across the lot with his coat over his head. He’s smoking a bit when he flings himself inside, and Wesley gets out of his way.

 

“We’re heading to Xander’s apartment,” Wesley reminds him.

 

“I’m aware,” Spike says tersely. “I’m not deaf, am I?”

 

Wesley doesn’t respond to that, too thrilled with their success to be bothered by Spike sniping.

 

But as Spike pulls up in front of Xander’s apartment building, Wesley realizes that he’s going to be spending the next hours or days in the company of people who really don’t like him.

 

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Wesley mutters.

 

Spike glances over at him with a smirk. “We make our own fun.”

 

Spike waits in the RV while Wesley goes up to Xander’s apartment to let the others know that they have wheels.

 

“Will it fit all of us?” Buffy asks, forced to deal with him since Spike isn’t there to ask.

 

“It’s an RV,” Wesley replies. “We’ll all fit, although I can stay behind.”

 

Giles gives him a sharp look. “It’s not safe.”

 

“Where are we going?” Anya asks.

 

Buffy closes her eyes briefly. “I don’t know.”

 

“Los Angeles,” Wesley suggests quietly.

 

Buffy frowns. “Why?”

 

“Because we can go to the Hyperion, which is defensible, or we can join up with my friends,” Wesley replies as evenly as possible. “L.A. is a large city, and we’ll be harder to track there, and more likely to go unnoticed.”

 

Buffy suddenly looks hopeful. “If Angel comes back, we might have some help.”

 

And Wesley will be with friends again, he thinks and does not say.

 

“Los Angeles is as good a place as any,” Giles inserts. “And at least we’ll have a destination, rather than driving aimlessly.”

 

“Oh, I have an aim,” Buffy replies. “It’s to get away from Glory. Everybody, grab what you need, and take a load of supplies.”

 

Wesley grabs Giles’ arm. “A moment, please?”

 

“We don’t have time, Wesley,” Giles says impatiently.

 

“Please,” Wesley says.

 

He doesn’t think he’s going to get anywhere; in fact, he _knows_ he’s not going to get anywhere, and he doesn’t dare bring it up with Buffy. The best he can do is broach the subject with Giles so that his conscience will at least be clear.

 

“The safest thing to do would be to send Dawn somewhere else, and have Buffy lead Glory in another direction,” Wesley says in a whisper.

 

Giles draws him away. “How? Who would take her? Glory has her minions watching us.”

 

Wesley squares his shoulders. “She has no reason to know about me. I know people who would take both of us in.”

 

Giles rubs his eyes. “You can’t be serious. You know full well Buffy will never go for that.”

 

“I’m aware,” Wesley says dryly, although he knows the effect is probably lost coming from a child. “Why do you think I’m talking to you?”

 

“It’s impossible,” Giles says.

 

Wesley nods. “I know that, too.”

 

“Then why are you bringing it up?” Giles asks.

 

Wesley shrugs. “I had to say it aloud.”

 

Giles looks worn and drawn. “Yes, I can see why you would. Do you really think you could get her away safely?”

 

“Not without Buffy killing me,” Wesley replies. “But I’ll do what I can while I’m with you. I might not look like much, but I have a few hidden talents.”

 

“We all might need a few of those before this is over,” Giles says glumly. “Come on. I brought your things with me.”

 

Wesley still thinks he might have been able to get Dawn away, and if Angel had been around, he’s one of the few Buffy might have trusted with Dawn’s safety.

 

He doesn’t even come close to making that list, and he’s well aware that any attempt to try his half-baked plan would probably have consequences that he cannot face.

 

No, he’s in this now, for better or worse, even if it’s as little more than a bystander.

 

~~~~~

 

Not quite an hour later, and they’re trundling towards Los Angeles by the back roads, none of them wanting to push the RV too hard. It’s hot and crowded, and the air conditioner barely works, so the interior is stifling.

 

Wesley had thought it might be better to take the interstate, even though they had no hope of keeping up with the flow of traffic, but Buffy insisted on the scenic route. After only a token protest, he’d found a corner to wedge himself into, and started paging through the _Book of Tarnis_ again.

 

He might not be able to do much, but at least he could be well informed.

 

He tries not to let their sniping get to him, knowing that these sorts of complaints are normal. Strangely, it makes Wesley feel even more left out, because he doesn’t have the right to complain, so he can’t participate. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, to make it obvious that he doesn’t belong.

 

Not that it’s easy to go unnoticed in such close quarters.

 

Wesley drifts off between one second and the next, waking to a thump on the roof, and the swerve of the vehicle. “What’s going on?”

 

“We have company,” Giles calls from the driver’s seat as a couple of arrows fly through the windows. “Weapons?”

 

“Hello, you’re driving one!” Spike calls as Buffy tosses a bag to Spike.

 

Wesley peeks out the back window cautiously, seeing men in suits of armor on horseback. “Who are these people?”

 

“The Knights of Byzantium,” Spike calls. “Daft buggers, religious fanatics.”

 

A sword pierces the roof, and Tara shrieks. Giles swerves again trying to dislodge him, and Spike tries to stay away from the rays of sunlight coming through the holes in the roof and the windows.

 

At least the arrows have stopped coming through the windows, although everyone is on the floor for safety. Buffy’s up front, conferring with Giles, and Spike is standing, looking grim.

 

Wesley realizes that Spike isn’t going to be of much use against humans, even if they are trying to kill them.

 

“Right,” Wesley mutters, no longer content to simply stay out of the way. First things first, they need to get the knight off the roof.

 

He delves deep into his backpack until his hand closes around the butt of his semiautomatic, this one a little lighter than the one he’d carried as an adult. Gunn had given it to him, perfectly legally.

 

If you leave aside the issue of Wesley looking a couple of decades younger, anyway.

 

He waits until the sword comes through the roof again, and when Spike reaches to grab the bare blade, he shouts, “Out of the way!”

 

Spike moves, and Wesley steadies the gun with both hands and fires, knowing that if he doesn’t hit the knight with the first or second shot, he won’t be able to do much good.

 

The sword stays where it is in the roof, but there’s a thump behind the RV, and a couple of new holes for the sunlight.

 

Tara is making high-pitched noises from the floor, clearly in distress, and Willow is trying to calm her. Xander and Anya stare at him with wide eyes, Spike and Dawn look somewhat impressed, and Buffy—

 

Buffy is incensed. “You brought a gun? Are you serious?”

 

“Yes, I brought a gun,” Wesley snaps, his patience at an end. “For protection. I have a license, it’s perfectly legal, and in case you missed it, we have armored men trying to _kill us all_. I hardly think that this is the moment to be criticizing my choice in weaponry!”

 

Tara makes another distressed noise, and Willow says, “Buffy.”

 

“I’m sorry, Tara,” Buffy says, and meets Wesley’s eyes, and for the first time, her expression is measuring. “Wes, stay close to Dawn. How many more rounds do you have?”

 

“Most of a clip and an extra in my pack,” Wesley replies. “But I don’t have the long range accuracy I used to.”

 

Buffy nodded. “Well, if they get too close, I know you’ll be able to hit them.”

 

“We’ve got more incoming,” Wesley calls, glancing out the window.

 

Giles swerves again in an attempt to prevent one of the knights from latching on, but Wesley hears another thunk on the side of the RV.

 

“Wesley, Spike, stay with Dawn,” Buffy orders. “Xander, get the hatch.”

 

Wesley huddles with Dawn and Spike near the back of the vehicle, watching the windows. “Where did you learn to handle yourself?” Spike asks.

 

“I _was_ a private detective,” Wesley replies. “Technically, I still am, and I received a very thorough training from the Watcher’s Council.”

 

“I didn’t think they used guns,” Dawn objects.

 

Wesley shakes his head. “Not usually, no.”

 

He’s listening to the sounds from the roof, and then the back window explodes inward, and there’s a knight hanging half in, and half out.

 

Wesley might have tried to disable him, rather than going for a kill shot, but about the only part of the knight that’s visible is his head. “The key is the link, the link must be severed,” the knight mutters.

 

Wesley pulls the trigger, and the knight falls away.

 

“You don’t mess around, do you?” Spike asks.

 

“I find it’s usually best not to do so when someone is trying to kill you,” Wesley replies grimly.

 

There’s a cry from the front of the RV, and Spike swears. “Hold onto something!”

 

Wesley can’t see what’s going on, but he braces himself against the wall as Dawn does the same next to him.

 

“Buffy!” Dawn calls. “She was on the roof!”

 

“Just hold on,” Spike replies as the RV skids out of control. “Buffy’ll be fine.”

 

The RV bounces, which causes Wesley to bite his tongue, and he tastes blood as the RV tips over onto its side. He lands in a heap with Spike and Dawn, and Spike has to scramble out of the way of the sunlight.

 

Buffy pokes her head in through the hatch. “Hurry, we have to move. We can’t stay here.”

 

“Giles is hurt,” Willow calls. “Buffy, I think it’s bad.”

 

Buffy closes her eyes briefly. “Okay. I think I saw a building nearby. We can assess the damage and move on from there.”

 

Wesley grabs his backpack and tucks the gun away, making sure the safety is on, and then he picks up the bag of weapons. It’s heavy, and he knows he won’t be able to travel far, but he’s not going to be of much help with Giles.

 

Spike is smoking slightly by the time they reach the abandoned gas station, and Willow has her hands full with Tara, who’s still agitated.

 

Wesley feels sorry for her, and for Willow. He hadn’t been sure there was anything worse than being turned into a child again, but what had happened to Tara surely qualifies.

 

Xander, Spike, and Buffy get Giles up on the counter and begin looking him over. Wesley can’t be of any help, so he draws Dawn away. “Come on. Let’s stay out of the way.”

 

He pulls the gun back out and checks to make sure his spare clip is where he left it.

 

“You’re really good with that,” Dawn says.

 

Wesley shrugs and sits down on the dirty floor, up against the wall. “I used to be better, before.”

 

“Oh. Did you forget how to use it?” Dawn asks, sitting next to him.

 

Wesley shakes his head. “I didn’t forget anything, it’s just—” He glances around, and ensures that Buffy isn’t paying them any attention. “Here.”

 

“It’s heavier than I thought,” Dawn says, taking the gun when he offers it, sounding surprised.

 

“And that one is lighter than my last one I had,” Wesley says, taking the gun back. “It’s hard to get any accuracy past the first few shots. A crossbow or compound bow would be better—with the right arrows, they work against both humans and vampires, and they have a longer range with a lighter draw.”

 

Dawn wraps her arms around her shins. “You know a lot about weapons.”

 

“I’ve had a lot of training, both at the Academy and on the job.” Wesley glances at her. “When we get out of here, I could show you, assuming your sister allows it.”

 

“Fat chance,” Dawn replies glumly. “But maybe we can be sneaky about it.”

 

“I’d rather not get on Buffy’s bad side,” Wesley says. “But maybe.”

 

Wesley starts as a flaming arrow flies through the window, followed quickly by a second.

 

“Dawn, stay down!” Buffy calls, grabbing her arm and dragging her behind the counter. “Wesley, stay with her. Willow, I need that spell!”

 

Wesley thumbs off the safety and crouches down next to Dawn as the others do their best to stomp out the small fires set by the arrows.

 

From their position, Wesley can’t see much, but he hears Xander say something about a crusade, and then an ax splinters the wood near his head, and Dawn shrieks.

 

“I’ve got it,” Wesley calls. “Move back, Dawn.”

 

He waits for the next blow from the ax so he knows where to aim, wanting to save on ammunition. He fires twice, and the pounding stops.

 

Another knight comes crashing through the door, and Spike lunges for the knight, crying out in pain.

 

“Spike!” Dawn cries.

 

Wesley grabs her arm, pulling her down. “We have to stay down, and out of the way. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

 

He holds her back with one hand and holds his gun in the other, knowing their best bet is to stay out of sight. If these knights know that Dawn is the key, Wesley doesn’t want to give them a shot at her.

 

Wesley can hear the sounds of fighting, and feel the crackle in the air as Willow performs a spell. There are no more fiery arrows, no sounds from outside. “Nice to know the shielding spell works,” Willow remarks, sounding satisfied.

 

“Will, how long will it hold?” Buffy asks.

 

“Half a day, maybe,” Willow replies. “Or until Heckle and Jeckle punch a hole through it.”

 

Spike clears his throat. “So, what’s the story with these role-playing rejects?”

 

“Let’s find out,” Buffy says grimly.

 

Dawn pulls away from Wesley and moves towards Buffy, and Wesley lets her go this time. There’s nothing he can do for the moment, and he walks over to one of the windows, staring out at the army. He wonders where they’d been camped, and how they’d stayed out of sight.

 

He remains by the window, figuring that he can at least warn the others if it looks like they’re going to punch through Willow’s barrier.

 

It’s not like he belongs with any of them; he doesn’t have anything to say to them. He’s glad to be able to help, but there’s not much he can do.

 

Wesley wonders where Angel is, and if he’s having any luck finding and rescuing Cordelia.

 

Tara begins to wail, saying, “Time, time, time,” over and over again.

 

Wesley swallows hard, wanting to get away from the sound, and hating himself a little bit for that. He feels pity, sure, but more than anything else he just wants the sound to stop.

 

Eventually, Tara settles and falls asleep, and the others range themselves around the room. No one tries to talk to Wesley, and he stays next to the window, looking out.

 

“Willow, make a door,” Buffy orders. “We need help for Giles. He’s not going to make it otherwise.”

 

Wesley watches as Buffy and Xander walk out to talk to the knights. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but the knights don’t kill them, and eventually one nods.

 

“I need a phone,” Buffy says as soon as she gets inside.

 

Willow frowns. “What are you going to do?”

 

“They said they’d let one person in, and I’m going to call the only doctor I know,” Buffy replies.

 

Wesley goes back to watching.

 

“Here,” Xander says, holding out a granola bar as he approaches Wesley. “You’re probably hungry.”

 

Wesley shrugs. “A bit.”

 

“That was good work,” he offers. “With the gun.”

 

“I wish there was something more I could do,” Wesley replies, tearing into the granola bar.

 

“Welcome to my world,” Xander offers.

 

Wesley manages a smile. “Thanks.”

 

~~~~~

 

When Ben arrives, it’s in a nondescript four-door sedan, and the knights keep their promise to let him through. Wesley spares a look for Ben, who’s square-jawed and blandly handsome, and then he goes back to watching.

 

Ben works on Giles while Buffy and Spike interrogate the general as Dawn listens nearby. Xander leaves him to his post, and Wesley’s stomach growls. The granola bar had barely taken the edge off, but he can live with the hunger for now.

 

He’s just watching, half-drifting with his own thoughts of Angel and the rest of his friends, when he hears a commotion from behind him.

 

“You have to open a door!” Ben shouts, sounding pained. “Open a door!”

 

Buffy rushes into the room. “What’s going on?”

 

Dawn shakes her head. “I don’t know. He just freaked out.”

 

“Let me out!” Ben shouts.

 

“Okay, Will, open a door,” Buffy says.

 

“No!” Ben cries out. “Ah!”

 

Wesley blinks, and sees a woman. He has no idea where she’d come from.

 

“Well, what do you know,” she says. “Little Ben finally did something right.”

 

He hears the general say, “The beast,” and Wesley figures that means Glory.

 

“Hey, it’s Gregor,” Glory says cheerfully, picking up a hubcap and throwing it at the general. It bites deep into his chest, and he slumps forward, obviously dead. “Now it’s not.”

 

Spike rushes her, and she flings him backward. Wesley raises his gun and empties the rest of his clip on her, not daring to hope that he’ll actually be able to do any good.

 

His bullets hit her, and she whirls to face him. “Well, well. Who is this? The Slayer must be hitting the bottom of the barrel.”

 

Wesley tries to run, but Glory grabs him and flings him, and the last thing Wesley knows is darkness.

 

~~~~~

 

When he comes to, he’s in a hospital bed, in what looks to be the ER, and he groans. His head is pounding, and he can’t remember how he got there for a moment.

 

No, strike that. He can’t remember anything since he’d fired his gun at Glory.

 

There’s an IV in his hand, and he sits up slowly and looks around, wondering if he should leave. Wesley touches his forehead and finds a patch of gauze, but he has no idea where the others are now.

 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Giles says, coming around the curtain. “How do you feel?”

 

“Like it would be an improvement if my head fell off my shoulders,” Wesley replies. “What happened?”

 

“There was a car accident,” Giles replies, glancing around. “I’m going to check with the nurses and see if I can take you home, all right?”

 

Wesley recognizes that now is not the time to talk about Glory, or what had happened, and he falls silent.

 

Thirty minutes later, they’re in Giles’ car. “I’m meeting the others back at the Magic Box,” Giles says. “I can drop you off at my apartment, or you can accompany me if you’re feeling up to it.”

 

Wesley isn’t, really, but he refuses to admit it. “I’ll be fine. What happened?”

 

“Glory appeared, she threw everyone around, killed the knights, and then left with Dawn,” Giles summarizes. “Buffy has fallen into a catatonic state, and Willow is doing a spell to try to reach her. Xander and Spike have gone to see a demon that Spike knows to see if they can figure out where Glory is planning to do the ritual.”

 

“What are we going to do?” Wesley asks.

 

“Hope that Willow can reach Buffy, and that we can discover where Glory is holding Dawn, and what this ritual entails.” Giles sighs. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we may have some difficult choices ahead of us.”

 

“What does Glory want with Dawn, anyway?” he asks.

 

Giles looks grim. “If Glory completes the ritual, the key will remove the barriers between all the worlds, causing chaos and total destruction.”

 

Wesley suddenly knows what “difficult choices” entail. He presses his lips tightly together, grateful that he’s not in a position to make those choices.

 

No one else is at the Magic Box when they arrive, and Giles sets about making tea. Wesley’s head still aches, and he slumps at the table, resting his head on his hand.

 

The water has just started to boil when Xander and Spike return. “We talked to Doc,” Spike says. “Wanker was a worshipper of Glory.”

 

“Did you find anything?” Giles demands.

 

Xander sets a box on the table. “Spike rescued this from the fire while I killed him.” His mouth twists into a smile. “As you can probably tell from the blue blood.”

 

Giles pours boiling water into a couple of mugs. “Having had a few concussions in the past, I know how much your head probably hurts right now,” Giles says, setting a mug next to Wesley’s elbow. “But I need to know more about the ritual Glory will perform, and I could use your assistance.”

 

Wesley rubs his eyes wearily, wishing for one brief moment that he could go to sleep, like Rip Van Winkle, and wake twenty years from now, fully grown again.

 

But Dawn is in trouble, and Wesley has learned a thing or two about pushing through the pain.

 

“Let’s see what you have,” he replies.

 

Wesley has to squint, and his vision still seems a bit fuzzy, but he pushes through the discomfort, focusing on Dawn. They have to save her. That’s all there is to it.

 

Giles is the one to find the answer, though—Wesley somehow isn’t surprised to find out that it’s a bloodletting ritual. “Once the ritual starts, the only way to prevent the end of the world would be to—stop it,” Giles says.

 

“What? Like, patch her up?” Xander asks.

 

Wesley shakes his head. “No. The only thing that would work would be to ensure that her blood doesn’t flow at all.”

 

Xander looks stricken. “Kill Dawnie? We can’t do that.”

 

“We’ll just have to make sure the ritual never starts,” Spike says quietly.

 

“That would be the way to go,” Wesley agrees.

 

Giles rubs his eyes.  “We’ll keep looking. Perhaps there’s another way.”

 

They’re still looking when Willow enters the shop, and Giles goes to meet her. “Buffy? She’s here.”

 

Wesley retreats from the table instinctively. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near Buffy when Giles gives her the news, and he’s exhausted, so he goes into the training room in the back, collapsing on the couch.

 

He’s not asleep, but he is drifting when Buffy and Giles enter, arguing in low voices. Wesley can guess what they’re arguing about, and he gets up and heads for the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

 

Buffy and Giles are too caught up in their discussion to pay him much mind, and Wesley goes back out into the main shop area, where the others are talking. He doesn’t want any part of it, so he retreats up the stairs and sprawls on the floor.

 

Spike joins him after a few minutes. “How’s the head?”

 

“Why are you asking?”

 

“I’ve had a headache or two,” Spike replies, sitting down on the top step. “What you did back there—that took stones.”

 

Wesley almost smiles. “I wasn’t thinking, to be honest.”

 

“Doesn’t change things,” Spike replies. “You tried to protect Dawn. That counts for something.”

 

“Not that I was successful,” Wesley says, thumping his head back against a shelf.

 

Spike pulls out a lighter, flicks it open, flicks it closed. “None of us were.”

 

The bruises on his face have mostly cleared up now, but Wesley remembers how he’d looked the other night. He tries to remember that Spike and Buffy had each gone up against her and lost. He hadn’t had a chance.

 

Spike cocks his head to one side. “Sounds like Buffy is back.”

 

“Think I’ll wait up here,” Wesley replies. “It’s not like I can be of any assistance.”

 

Spike shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

 

It’s curiosity more than anything else that has Wesley creeping down the stairs, sitting just above Spike.

 

There’s nothing new, no news, really. If they don’t stop Glory from performing the ritual, Dawn will have to die. Buffy refuses to see that, and Wesley is reminded of the girl he’d known two years ago, who had refused to sacrifice her friend to stop the Mayor.

 

Wesley wonders why Giles thinks Buffy will entertain the idea of killing her sister. As Buffy said, the monks had made Dawn from her; they had given her memories of Dawn.

 

The fact that Wesley remembers her as a big-eyed waif, crouched on the stairs makes the monks’ work impressive.

 

Anya gets the ball rolling, suggesting strategies for keeping Glory occupied, and Wesley wishes he could help. He wishes he had more time to research, to plan, but they have hours.

 

Not even.

 

They have the beginnings of a plan, and Anya and Xander retreat to the basement to look for the Dagon Sphere. Wesley takes a few steps down. “I want to help.”

 

Buffy turns to look at him, and her expression softens slightly. “Wes, you can’t.”

 

“I can,” he protests. “I did. You know I did.”

 

“You did,” Buffy agrees. “And I will never forget what you did for Dawn. But you’re hurt, you’re barely conscious, and I doubt you can shoot straight.”

 

Wesley looks at the stair tread, unable to argue.

 

“Angel asked me to look out for you,” Buffy says quietly. “And I need to focus on helping Dawn. I can’t do both.”

 

Wesley nods, his throat tight. “Of course. I understand.”

 

There’s silence, and when he looks up, Buffy’s watching him, her expression serious and sad. He thinks she looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world. “You’ve done enough,” Buffy says, and she sounds like she means it.

 

Wesley nods, and then sits back down on the steps heavily, feeling numb and strange, wishing the curse would finally wear off, that he’d be of use, that—

 

“Chin up,” Spike advises. “Slayer’s right. You look like you’re about to fall over, and if you did that in the middle of the fight, someone would have to rescue you.”

 

Wesley nods, and swallows past the lump in his throat. “I know. I’m just tired. And I’m tired of feeling useless.”

 

“Yeah,” Spike says quietly, and goes back to playing with his lighter.

 

~~~~~

 

The plan begins to come together, but Wesley stays out of it, watching from the sidelines. There isn’t anything he can do, other than stay out of their way.

 

Tara is clearly anxious to be gone to wherever Glory is, saying over and over, “Big day! Oh, it calls. I have to be there. Big day!”

 

“We need to go,” Buffy says finally. “Everybody knows what to do?”

 

Giles hands his keys to Wesley. “You can sleep in the couch in the training room, or you can make your way back to the flat. I’m sorry I can’t take you myself, but—”

 

“Go,” Wesley replies. “Good luck. I’ll see you all soon.”

 

Giles pats him on the shoulder. “Wait until light to go back to the flat, if you decide to go there.”

 

The others don’t spare him a glance as they hurry out the door, other than Spike, who glances over his shoulder and offers a salute.

 

For lack of anything better to do, Wesley grabs a book and goes back into the training room, stretching out on the couch. He intends to read for a while, but he doesn’t get two sentences in, and he’s out again.

 

When he wakes, he’s disoriented by the angle of the light, which would seem to indicate that it’s midday. He doesn’t hear any sounds, and when he peeks out at the front, the door is shut, and he can see the “Open” side of the sign facing him.

 

Rubbing his eyes, he glances around, seeing that the time is just after one in the afternoon.

 

The world is clearly still intact, so the others must have succeeded in their mission, but Wesley thinks it’s probably a bad sign that the shop is still closed, and no one had come for him.

 

Perhaps they’d merely forgotten he was there, or were too tired to think at all. He knows he had been at that point, although he feels wide awake now.

 

He takes Giles’ keys and begins walking to the flat, feeling conspicuous in his grubby, blood stained t-shirt and jeans. Wesley keeps his head down and his shoulders hunched, wondering where his pack with his remaining clean clothing is.

 

Although he can feel eyes on him the entire way, Wesley makes it back to Giles’ place unmolested. He doesn’t even have to use the key, because the door swings open under his hand, and he sees Giles on the couch.

 

And Wesley _knows_.

 

“Who?” he asks quietly, his heart in his throat. “Who was it?”

 

Giles opens his mouth, stops, takes a breath, clears his throat. “Buffy.”

 

Wesley hangs onto the door, clutching the knob. Slayers, he knows, are born to die, but Buffy had been _his_ Slayer once upon a time. She’d seemed invincible.

 

In the end, she’d been kind to him. He thinks that might hurt the most, strangely enough.

 

“I’m so very sorry,” Wesley says weakly, knowing his words are inadequate.

 

Giles throws back his drink. “Thank you,” he replies, his words slightly slurred. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get some sleep.”

 

Wesley watches helplessly as Giles climbs the stairs to the loft, and he closes the door softly, wondering what it is he’s supposed to do now.

 

Nothing, he thinks. He can do nothing. It seems he’s getting good at that.

 

~~~~~

 

The next couple of days pass by in something of a blur. Wesley tries to stay out of the way, as there seems to be little he can do to help. They bury Buffy in a grave at the edge of one of the cemeteries, where the site isn’t likely to be noticed. He thinks they order a stone, although it won’t be ready for a while yet.

 

Giles spends a lot of time at the Summers’ residence, and so Wesley does as well, although he doesn’t participate in the decision making. From snatches of conversation, they’re trying to decide what to do about Dawn; no one has been able to reach her father, and the social workers had been sniffing around before.

 

Wesley finds himself out on the back porch one night, just as the sun is going down. He’s not terribly surprised when he sees Spike at the edge of the yard.

 

“Hello.”

 

“H’lo,” Spike replies, and he sits down next to Wesley, lighting a cigarette.

 

Wesley doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t asked what happened, because he’s not sure he wants the details. Buffy is dead; what more does he need to know?

 

“Seen Dawn?” Spike asks.

 

Wesley shrugs. “Not really. Glimpses, mostly. She’s been staying in her room a lot.” When Spike doesn’t reply, Wesley says, “She’d probably like to see you, though.”

 

“Doubt it.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Wesley says quietly.

 

Spike stares at him. “What’s that then?”

 

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats. “You tried.”

 

“Sometimes that’s not good enough,” Spike replies.

 

Wesley shakes his head. “No, sometimes it’s not, but sometimes it’s the best we’ve got.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Dawn is in her room, and the others are talking, if you want to see her. I can even provide a distraction if you like.”

 

“Why?” Spike asks.

 

Wesley glances over at him. “Because I have known a number of demons, and a lot of humans. I believe that all sentient creatures are capable of change.” He pauses. “And I believe that Dawn would like to see you, and I’m worried about her.”

 

“Fair enough,” Spike replies, and then he’s gone.

 

Wesley goes back inside for a glass of water, and runs into Tara in the kitchen. “Sorry,” he says automatically, at the same time as Tara.

 

Tara smiles. “You know, with everything that’s gone on, I don’t think we’ve actually been introduced.”

 

Wesley holds out a hand. “Wesley.”

 

“Tara,” she replies, and frowns at him. “Oh.”

 

“Willow said you could read auras,” Wesley says.

 

Tara nods. “Yours is really interesting.”

 

“Any ideas how to restore me to my old self?” Wesley asks, not really hoping for much.

 

Tara offers a sympathetic smile. “You _are_ yourself. Just—younger.”

 

Wesley nods. “Thank you.”

 

“Do you want something to eat?” she asks. “A sandwich? I don’t think Dawnie has eaten yet. You could take one up to her.”

 

Wesley hitches a shoulder. “Sure.”

 

Tara deftly makes a couple of sandwiches, and Wesley asks, “Do you think I could make a phone call? Long distance?”

 

Tara hesitates. “I’m sure that would be fine.”

 

Wesley makes sure he’s out of earshot and dials the hotel’s number. He’s made a couple of other calls, but hasn’t left any messages. This time, he can’t resist.

 

“Angel, it’s me,” Wesley begins. “I take it you’re not back yet, but I need you to come to Sunnydale as soon as you return. Something has happened. I’m fine, but—I can’t tell you over the phone. I need to do it in person. I just need you to get here as soon as you can.”

 

He hangs up before he can say anymore, and rejoins Tara in the kitchen. “I wasn’t sure if you liked the crusts on,” she says.

 

“I like crusts,” Wesley replies. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course,” Tara says. “Let me know if there’s anything else.”

 

Wesley takes both sandwiches upstairs and knocks on Dawn’s door, juggling the plates. “Dawn? It’s me. I have dinner.”

 

“Come in,” she calls.

 

Spike is perched on the windowsill. “I’ll stop by later, sweet bit. If you’re still awake, leave your window cracked.”

 

“Don’t tell anybody,” Dawn says immediately after Spike leaves, taking the plate.

 

“I have no intention of telling anyone that Spike was here,” Wesley replies, kicking the door closed behind him. “I don’t see how it’s anyone’s business but yours. Was I wrong in telling him that you wanted to see him?”

 

“No,” Dawn replies, beginning to tear her sandwich into small pieces. “He hasn’t been around much.”

 

“He’s grieving,” Wesley says simply.

 

“How come you believe that and no one else does?” Dawn asks.

 

Wesley shrugs. “I work for a vampire, and I don’t believe a soul is the be-all, or end-all of a person, or a demon.

 

Dawn takes a bite and chews slowly.

 

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Wesley offers, realizing that he hadn’t said as much before.

 

Dawn stares down at her sandwich. “Do you know what Buffy said to me right before she died?”

 

Wesley is quiet, as he has no idea.

 

“She said the hardest thing in this world is to live in it,” Dawn says softly.

 

Wesley swallows and pushes his plate away. “She was right.”

 

“I guess you’d know,” Dawn agrees.

 

Wesley stares out the window. “I suppose.” He clears his throat. “The best thing, I’ve found, is to take it one day at a time.”

 

Dawn laughs, but it’s a brittle sound. “That’s such a cliché.”

 

“But it’s true,” Wesley replies, feeling the weight of his words. “You wake up in the morning, and you get out of bed, and you do what you can. You go to school, or you do research, or you relearn how to shoot a gun.”

 

“Or learn for the first time.”

 

“Or that,” Wesley agrees. “And eventually, the life you’re living seems normal, as incredible as that seems at this moment, and you learn to live within your limitations.”

 

Dawn meets his eyes, and for a moment, Wesley sees Buffy in her. “Like you have.”

 

“I’m still learning,” Wesley admits. “It’s a process.”

 

Dawn sniffs. “You want to watch a movie or something?”

 

Wesley nods, relishing the opportunity to get out of his own head. “Yes, I would.”

 

~~~~~

 

The next day, they go back over to Buffy’s house, and Wesley watches another movie with Dawn, this time _The Princess Bride_.

 

Wesley has never seen it before, and he’s completely immersed when Giles calls out, “Wesley! Angel is here.”

 

Wesley glances at Dawn, who pauses the movie. “Go. We’ll finish this later,” she says.

 

Angel is walking up to the house when Wesley runs out, and Angel pulls him into a hug. “You have stitches,” he says.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Wesley assures him. “They’ll come out in a few days.”

 

“What happened?” Angel demanded.

 

Wesley glances behind him. “Cordelia?”

 

“She’s fine,” Angel insists. “They’re all fine and back in L.A. What happened, Wes?”

 

“It’s Buffy,” Wesley says, his eyes stinging. “She, um, she didn’t make it.”

 

Angel shakes his head. “No. You’re mistaken.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Wesley says a little desperately. “I’m sorry, Angel, but she’s gone.”

 

Angel doesn’t want to stay after that, and Wesley supposes that he understands. Angel sticks around just long enough to pay his respects to the others, and allow Wesley to say his goodbyes.

 

Impulsively, he gives Dawn a hug before he leaves. “If you ever need anything, just let me know,” he says.

 

“Thanks,” Dawn replies, blinking rapidly. “I might do that.”

 

“Wes!” Angel calls impatiently.

 

“Tell Spike goodbye from me,” Wesley says.

 

Dawn nods. “I will.”

 

Wesley bids goodbye to Willow and Tara—Xander and Anya are elsewhere—and then looks at Giles. “Thank you—for everything.”

 

“Thank you,” Giles replies. “Let us know if you need anything.”

 

Wesley doesn’t think he will. Buffy’s death has, in many ways, taken the heart right out of them. He doesn’t think he could bear laying another burden on their shoulders. “Same here,” he says, and shakes Giles’ hand.

 

He tosses his backpack into the backseat of Angel’s convertible, and buckles in. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

 

Angel shakes his head. “I wasn’t here. I should have been here.”

 

Wesley doesn’t say there was nothing Angel could have done; it would be an empty statement. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

 

“I know you did the best you could,” Angel replies, but the words are hollow. “I’ll take you back to the Hyperion and then—I think I need to get away for a while.”

 

“Angel—” Wesley protests.

 

“You’ll be okay,” Angel says. “Cordy and Gunn will look after you.”

 

“I’m not worried about that,” Wesley protests. “I just think—maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”

 

Angel glances over at him. “That’s exactly what I should be right now.”

 

Wesley can feel the walls go up, and he falls silent, leaning his forehead against the door as they sped back to Los Angeles, knowing instinctively that Angel doesn’t want to talk.

 

He tries to tell himself that they’re going home, that he’ll see Cordelia and Gunn again. That everything will be fine.

 

The trouble is, he doesn’t believe it. He’s spent the last few days terribly homesick, and now he’s not sure that L.A. will be any better.

 

Maybe he just doesn’t have a home to which he can return.


End file.
